Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Fariha Abdiwey boarded the No.9 matatu
from Eastleigh for the last time. She had bid her family goodbye for the glory
of Allah.

Once
in town, Fariha went straight to her hotel room at the Hilton. At least she was
going to die in luxury.

The
room overlooked the busy Moi Avenue. She sat on the bed with the laptop that
had been her toy for the past three years. She opened the heavily encrypted
application on the desktop. She typed in several codes then the window popped
with the city map and the blueprints of the buildings she wanted.

Outside,
the city was a buzzle of activity, the trademark Nairobi jam; hawkers’ selling
their wares like there was nothing going on. While the application loaded,
Fariha went to the window to have a final look of the city she had lived, and
had called home, all her life.

It
was electrifying, for Fariha, to be the chosen one. She had been entrusted with
the mission. Bomb Nairobi, she had been told.

The
targets had been carefully selected, unique. Kenyans will forever talk about
it. 1998, 2002 and Westgate was nothing. The real terror attack was coming.
There was not such thing as too much punishment for Kenya. They had interfered
way too much with her people, even after being warned.

The
application on her laptop opened and the screen displayed a kaleidoscope of the
city’s ultra-modern buildings. Seven of those were to be annihilated.

All
the targets blinked green at her. An MS-DOS window was open at the bottom of
the screen showing only two words against the black background: EXECUTE, y/n?

Fariha
had no doubt. It was ‘y’. That’s she key she hit on the laptop keyboard.

For
some soul annihilating seconds, nothing happened. Then a loud explosion from
the direction of Harambee House roared like a thunder. She felt the walls of
her hotel room vibrate, then shake, shortly before a series of explosions
rocked the city.

She
rushed to the window for the last time before the hotel she was in exploded. It
was Armageddon outside. The sight filled her with indescribable pride.

At
last they had taken the war to Nairobi, as they had promised. Kenya had invaded
her country, killed her people. Fariha felt her blood begin to boil in
anticipation.

“Istaqfurulah,” she prayed.

For
a little while, Fariha felt more at peace than she had ever known shortly
before the Hotel Hilton tumbled down like an avalanche.